Hefat’s past alliance remained a distant memory until he encountered the Phoenician merchant Narish. Assessing the foreigner’s considerable wealth, Hefat came to realize that a man of his own intelligence, in his privileged position, might also become quite rich.
Dining with the Phoenician had opened Hefat’s eyes. Ramses was heading into his seventies; he would soon leave the government in the hands of conventional men, incapable of bold initiatives. His eldest son, Kha, was a mystic, removed from the daily business of the administration. Merenptah obeyed his father blindly and would be at a loss once Ramses was gone. Ahmeni, an aging scribe, would certainly be shunted aside.
Upon careful reflection, the country’s power structure was far shakier than it appeared. Despite increasingly frequent recourse to magical sed-feasts and the care of his chief physician, Neferet, Ramses was declining.
Perhaps the time had come at last to strike a decisive blow and make Shaanar’s vision a reality.
Merenptah was showing the ambassador from Hatti into the great audience chamber at the Pi-Ramses palace. Usually the diplomat came with an entourage, bearing gifts; this time he was alone. He bowed at the sight of Ramses.
“Your Majesty, I bring sad news. Your brother the Emperor of Hatti has passed away.”
From the battle of Kadesh to Hattusili’s arrival in Egypt, a variety of scenes flashed through the Pharaoh’s mind. The man had been a redoubtable adversary before his gradual conversion into a loyal ally. Together, he and Ramses had built a better world.
“Has his successor been designated?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Will he honor the peace treaty?”
Merenptah swallowed hard.
“Our late emperor’s decisions extend to his successors,” replied the ambassador. “Not a single clause of the treaty will be called into question.”
“Please extend my condolences and kind remembrance to Empress Puduhepa.”
“Alas, Your Majesty, the empress was also ill, and her husband’s death hastened her demise.”
“Then assure the new Emperor of Hatti of my friendship and goodwill. He can rely on Egypt.”
As soon as the ambassador left, Ramses spoke to his son.
“Contact our informers immediately and have them prepare a detailed report on the situation in Hatti. Tell them we need it right away.”
Hefat entertained the Phoenician Narish at his plush Pi-Ramses villa. He introduced his wife and two children, with comments about their excellent education and the fine future in store for them. After a pleasant luncheon, during which a great deal of small talk was exchanged, the chief of the Hydrology Department and the foreign trader drifted off to a wooden gazebo with finely detailed columns.
“Your invitation is an honor,” said Narish. “Forgive me for being blunt, but why did you ask me here? I’m a businessman, you’re an engineer . . . we have nothing in common, as far as I can see.”
“I’ve heard that you disagree with Ramses’ trade policies.”
“His ridiculous views on slavery have hurt us, certainly; but Egypt will come to realize how isolated his position leaves her and just how untenable it is.”
“That could take years . . . and you and I would like to grow richer here and now.”
The Phoenician was intrigued.
“I don’t see where you’re leading, Hefat.”
“Today, Ramses is the unquestioned ruler. That wasn’t always the case. His absolute power conceals a serious weakness: his age. Not to mention that his two potential successors, Kha and Merenptah, are equally inept.”
“I don’t deal in politics, especially not Egypt’s.”
“But you believe that profit is all-powerful, don’t you?”
“It’s the future of humanity, I agree.”
“Let’s make the future happen! We may be coming from different directions, but you and I both want to challenge Ramses. He’s no longer an effective leader. But that isn’t crucial; the important point is that we can profit financially from the decline of centralized power.”
“What kind of deal are you talking about?”
“At the very least, tripling Phoenicia’s wealth—and that’s a conservative estimate. Needless to say, the man responsible for this happy state of affairs will be a hero. That man is you, Narish.”
“And you, Hefat?”
“At the outset, I’d prefer to be a silent partner.”
“What’s your plan?”
“Before I unveil it, I need to be sure of your silence.”
The trader smiled. “My dear Hefat, a man’s word is law only here in Egypt. If you want to do business abroad, you’ll have to leave your old-fashioned notions behind.”
The chief hydrologist was reluctant to commit himself. If the Phoenician betrayed him, he’d end his days in prison.
“All right, Narish. I’ll explain everything.”
As Hefat outlined his idea, the Phoenician wondered how one of Pharaoh’s subjects could have come up with such a bold scheme. But he, Narish, would be running no risk at all, and the Egyptian was right: if it worked, they could both make a fortune, and Ramses’ reign would collapse.
Merenptah could not get the Libyan incident out of his mind. He was commander-in-chief, in charge of national security, yet he’d been unable to anticipate Malfi’s moves. Without Ramses’ clairvoyance and prompt action, the Libyans would have invaded the Delta, sacked the capital, and killed thousands of Egyptians.
Learning from the experience, Merenptah had personally inspected the forts along the Libyan border, instituting changes in patrol procedures, tightening discipline, and stressing what a vital service the soldiers assigned there were performing for their country.
Merenptah did not believe that the Libyan threat was gone for good. Malfi was dead, but other chieftains just as vengeful and bitter would take his place, preaching all-out war against Egypt. He therefore sought to reinforce protection of the Delta’s northwestern flank, with Ramses’ full agreement.
But how would the situation in Hatti evolve? The passing of Hattusili, an intelligent and realistic ruler, might well mark the start of an internal crisis that the ambassador was trying to play down. The Hittites were generally quick to use poison or daggers in their quest for the throne. And the old emperor had perhaps been mistaken in the belief that he had eliminated all opposition to his regime.
Impatient for reliable news from Hatti, Merenptah kept his regiments on high alert.
Though he didn’t turn up his nose at fish, the dog Watcher had a marked preference for red meat. Sharp-eyed as the previous members of his dynasty, Ramses’ companion enjoyed his mealtimes with his master. Food never tasted as good without conversation.
The king and Watcher were finishing their private luncheon when Merenptah arrived at the palace.
“Your Majesty, I’ve read all the reports from our observers and had a long talk with the head of our bureau in Hattusa.”
Ramses poured some wine into a silver cup and held it out to his son.
“Don’t keep anything from me, Merenptah. I want to know the exact truth.”
“The ambassador from Hatti wasn’t lying. Hattusili’s successor is resolutely determined to uphold the peace treaty and maintain excellent relations with Egypt.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
The Nile’s flooding . . . a miracle renewed each year, a gift from the gods that unleashed the people’s fervor and their gratitude toward the Pharaoh, who alone could make the river waters rise to make the earth fruitful.
And this year’s inundation was remarkable: thirty-five feet! Since the beginning of Ramses’ reign, the life-giving waters, springing from the depths of the celestial ocean, had never been wanting.
Now that peace with Hatti had been reconfirmed, the summer would brim with festivities and trips from town to town in boats refurbished during the winter months. Like all of his compatriots, Chief Hydrologist Hefat admired the grandiose sight of the Nile transformed into a lake with villag
es perched on hilltop islands. His family had left for Thebes to spend a few weeks with his parents, giving him room to maneuver.
While the farmhands rested, the officials in charge of irrigation were working hard. But Hefat had another way of looking at the inundation. The reservoirs were filled to capacity, held in by earthen dikes to be broken as water supplies were needed, and the engineer congratulated himself on the brilliant idea that was about to make him a man even richer and more powerful than Ramses the Great.
The high government officials had requested an audience with Ramses to submit a proposal they considered reasonable. They had independently reached the same conclusion.
The monarch listened attentively. Without refusing categorically, he advised against the undertaking, though he hoped it would work. Interpreting Ramses’ words as encouragement, the Treasury secretary decided to call on Ahmeni. His colleagues appreciated his courage. That very evening, the secretary called on the king’s sandal-bearer, whose staff had already gone home.
Approaching seventy, Ahmeni still looked like the student who had pledged his loyalty to Ramses when the young prince did not seem destined to become Pharaoh. He was as pale, slight, and skinny as ever despite a voracious appetite; his back ached constantly, yet he had more stamina than any man twice his size. He was a tireless, precise, and meticulous worker, sleeping only a few hours a night and personally reviewing every file.
“Is something wrong?” he asked the Treasury man.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what are you doing here? I’m busy.”
“We met under the vizier’s direction, and—”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Well, the director of the Double White House, and the agriculture secretary, and the—”
“I see. And what was the reason behind this meeting?”
“To tell the truth, there were two reasons.”
“Let’s try the first one.”
“For your service to Egypt, your colleagues in the administration would like to give you a villa in the locality of your choice.”
Ahmeni put down his brush.
“Interesting. And the second item?”
“You’ve worked hard, Ahmeni, much harder than you were ever asked to. It probably doesn’t seem that way to you, you’re so devoted. But hasn’t the time come for you to retire? A quiet life in a comfortable house, where you can enjoy your fine reputation.”
Ahmeni’s silence seemed a good sign.
“I knew that you’d listen to reason,” concluded the Treasury secretary, thrilled with the outcome of his initiative. “My colleagues will be happy to learn of your decision.”
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll never retire,” Ahmeni said emphatically. “And no one, with the exception of Pharaoh, will ever make me leave this office. Until he demands my resignation, I’ll continue working at my own pace and according to my methods. Is that quite clear?”
“We thought it would be in your interest . . .”
“Don’t give it another thought.”
Hefat and the Phoenician Narish met again at the Egyptian’s house on a hot summer day. The trader enjoyed the cool, refreshing beer that was served to him.
“I don’t want to brag,” said Narish, “but I think I’ve done an excellent job so far. Phoenicia’s merchants are ready to buy Egypt. But are you ready to sell it, Hefat?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
“When’s the exact date?”
“I can’t bend the laws of nature, but we haven’t much longer to wait.”
“Nothing stands in our way?”
The chief hydrologist reassured him. “No, thanks to my position in the government.”
“Won’t you need the seal of the high priest of Memphis?”
“Yes, but that’s Kha, who’s lost in his spiritual quest and his love of old monuments. He won’t even notice what he’s signing.”
“There’s one thing I wonder about,” admitted the Phoenician. “Why do you hate your country so?”
“Thanks to our arrangement, Egypt will hardly suffer and will finally open up to the outside world. We’ll be freed from old superstitions and outdated customs, as my mentor, Shaanar, would have wished. He wanted to topple Ramses; now I’ll be the one to get rid of the tyrant. By now he thinks he’s invincible. But where the Hittites, the Libyans, and black magic failed, I’ll prevail.”
“The answer is no,” said Ahmeni to the head of the province of Two Falcons, a big fellow with a jutting chin.
“Why is that?”
“Because no one province will enjoy special privilege to the detriment of its neighbors.”
“But the Interior Department encouraged me!”
“It could be, but no government department is allowed to make law. If I followed all of the cabinet’s recommendations, Egypt would be ruined.”
“Is your answer final?”
“The irrigation system won’t be modified. The water in the reservoirs will be released at the usual date, and not before.”
“In that case, I demand to see the king!”
“He’ll see you, but don’t waste his time.”
Without Ahmeni’s support, the governor knew he had no chance of winning Ramses’ approval. He might as well return to his provincial capital.
Ahmeni was intrigued.
Either by courier or in direct conversation, six heads of major provinces had asked him to confirm a decision supposedly made by the Hydrology Department in Memphis: the advance release of water from the reservoirs, in the hope of creating new cropland.
A double mistake, according to Ahmeni. On the one hand, there was no immediate need to develop agriculture. Furthermore, irrigation should proceed in a gradual manner. Fortunately the engineers in charge had no idea that the majority of provincial governors, with exemplary discretion, were in the habit of consulting the king’s private secretary whenever they sensed they were heading for dangerous ground.
If so many problems weren’t already crowding his desk, Ahmeni would have liked to launch an investigation and find out who was behind these irregularities.
The scribe began studying a report on the planting of willow in middle Egypt. Unable to concentrate, he set the scroll aside. This latest incident was definitely too serious to escape his attention.
Ramses and Kha stepped through the monumental gate to the temple of Thoth in Hermopolis, crossed a sunlit forecourt, and were welcomed by the god’s high priest at the doorway to the inner sanctuary. The king and his son admired the rooms where only Thoth’s clergy set foot, serving the god of scribes and scholars. Then they prayed in the chapel.
“Here my quest ends,” declared Kha.
“Then you’ve discovered the Book of Thoth?”
“For a long time I believed that it must be an ancient text, hidden away in the temple library. But I finally saw that each of the stones in our sanctuaries made up the letters in the book, written by the god of knowledge to give sense to our lives. Thoth transmitted his message in each sculpture, each hieroglyph. The task of making the connections falls to us, just as Isis had to reassemble the scattered pieces of Osiris’s body. Our entire country, Father, is a temple in the image of the heavens, and it’s Pharaoh’s role to keep the book open, to let the heart’s eyes decipher it.”
The joy and pride that Ramses felt hearing these sage words were something that no poet, even Homer, could have found the words to describe.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Though simple, Hefat’s idea would be devilishly effective. The chief hydrologist would release the excess water stored in the reservoirs and chalk the mistake up to Ramses’ inner circle, beginning with Kha, who would have signed and sealed the document giving his consent as the nominal supervisor of the canals.
Reassured by the fake studies that Hefat had circulated, the provincial governors had taken the bait and were clamoring for extra water to develop cropland and enrich their regio
ns. By the time it was clear that a terrible mistake had been made, it would be too late. There wouldn’t be enough water left for irrigation during the regular growing season, and all hope of an adequate harvest would vanish.
And after Kha, the blame would fall on Ramses.
That’s where Narish and the Phoenician traders would come in, offering to sell the food Egypt needed, but at an exorbitant price. The Treasury would be forced to accept their conditions, and the old Pharaoh would be swept away on a wave of indignation. Hefat, meanwhile, would get an enormous kickback. If circumstances were favorable, he’d step in and replace the vizier; if not, he’d leave for Phoenicia a wealthy man.
One final formality—getting Kha’s seal—and the plan could be set in motion. Hefat wouldn’t even need to meet with the high priest; the prince would delegate the task to his secretary.
Kha’s assistant greeted the hydrologist warmly. “You’re in luck, the high priest is in. He’ll be glad to see you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” protested Hefat. “I only need a signature. I don’t want to take his valuable time.”
“Please come this way.”
Jittery by now, the engineer stepped into a library where Kha, dressed in a tunic that looked like it was made of panther skin, was studying papyrus scrolls.
“I’m happy to meet you, Hefat.”
“It’s a great honor for me, Your Highness, but I didn’t mean to interrupt your research.”
“What can I do for you?”
“A simple administrative matter . . .”
“Show me the document.”
Kha’s voice was low, his tone commanding; the high priest was nothing like the dreamer Hefat had imagined.
“This is an unusual proposal. It demands close examination,” Kha said at length.
The chief hydrologist’s blood ran cold.
“No, Your Highness, it’s a simple proposal for facilitating irrigation, nothing more.”
“You’re too modest! Since I’m unable to judge this document on its merits, I’ll submit it to someone more qualified.”
Ramses, Volume V Page 28
